Utta turned her soft brown eyes up to his, meeting his gaze directly. “As am I, Lord Ragnar. If we are to enjoy some measure of happiness together, we would do well to get acquainted as early as possible.”
Had he thought her eyes soft? Weary, maybe, but a definite glint of intelligence firmed her gaze. “You must call me Ragni, as the rest of the family does.”
She gave him a small smile. “Perhaps tomorrow. Tonight we have only taken the first small steps toward familiarity.”
“‘A wise woman is a scarce treasure,’” he said, quoting the old saying.
Utta snorted delicately. “I rather think the perceived scarcity is due to a lack of observational skills.”
Ragni laughed. “I’m sure my mother will agree with that sentiment.” He inclined his head. “Until tomorrow then, my Lady Utta.”
Ragni waited until Utta’s door latched behind her, then walked down the hall and up the stairs to the family wing. It was late, but he didn’t stop at his own rooms. Instead, he continued on to his younger sister’s. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to her privately, and she’d left the feasting early. This can’t wait until tomorrow.
Ragni rapped softly on Kaidlin’s door. It opened after a short delay. His sister’s eyes looked puffy with interrupted sleep.
“I’m sorry I’m so late, Kady. Utta didn’t retire as early as I hoped, and there was the toasting, and, well, you know.”
Kaidlin nodded sympathetically. “You couldn’t abandon her. I understand.” She gestured him into her rooms and shut the door. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until morning? Bjorn rises early.”
Ragni grinned. His two-year-old nephew was a force of nature and his sister didn’t delegate much of his care to servants. “He keeps you busy, doesn’t he?”
Kaidlin smiled. “And every day he’s more like his father.”
Ragni looked at her closely, touching her with his Talent. Her husband, Sven, had died fighting Tewakwe Renegades, but she seemed serene now, even joyful as she spoke of her son. The sharp-edged sadness she’d carried in her heart for a year had faded to a gentle sorrow. Ragni was relieved that the arrival of the Tewakwe hadn’t honed its bite. Suitors had started sniffing around some months ago, but so far she’d shown no interest in marrying again. Their father, wisely, had put no pressure on her.
“So?” she prompted, crossing her arms and leaning against the closed door.
He felt coldly sober, despite his belly full of wine and mead. “Saeun will soon be arrested. We must distance ourselves from her.” He winced. Somehow he hadn’t thought the words would hurt so much coming out of his own mouth as they had coming from Wirmund. He’d been wrong.
“What? Arrested! Why?” Kaidlin straightened away from the door, stiff with surprise.
“Equipment for ritual magic was found in her room.”
“Oh, no! Oh, Ragni! I’m so sorry.” Kaidlin put a comforting hand on his arm.
Of course Kady knew about the two of them. Her sympathy soothed his raw nerves. “Aren’t you the least bit dismayed that she’s been practicing magic?”
Kaidlin waved her hands dismissively. “I’m more dismayed she’s in trouble. Saeun would never harm anyone.” She paced a few steps across her sitting room, then turned back to Ragni. “What is she going to do? What did she say when you warned her?”
“I haven’t.”
“What? Why not?” Doubt and suspicion flowed out of her. “Surely you don’t go along with this?”
Ragni clamped down on his Talent. Kaidlin’s near accusation churned his already conflicted feelings. Of course he wanted to protect Saeun. Did his sister think him a monster, that he could ask a woman to be his elskerinne one moment and Outcast her the next with scarcely a twitch? But he was a priest, by the gods, and a Jarl’s son, as well. Did no one understand he had a duty to the Law and to Baldur? That his personal feelings alone could not determine his actions?
Ragni forced his clenched jaw to relax. Kaidlin’s words and feelings arose from her concern for her friend, so he addressed the practical problem. “As Wirmund’s second I’m watched, as she must be. Celia said she’d get a message to her.”
Kaidlin’s alarmed concern settled. “Good. Celia has a good heart.”
As opposed to mine? But he said nothing.
“You talked to Celia first?”
“She was there when I told Dahleven,” Ragni said. Anticipating her next question, he continued. “I had to talk to him about something else, or I’d have told you first. And this affects the whole family.”
She nodded, satisfied. “And now? What’s next?”
“Tomorrow you’ll let it be known that Saeun has been dismissed from your service.”
“I will not!”
“You will. We must protect the family from her stain. Do you want Father to lose the Konship?”
“No, of course not.”
Such a taint could easily lose Neven the trust of the other Jarls. A change in leadership would not benefit Nuvinland, not with half the Tewakwe threatening a cleansing war and the Elves doing—well, doing whatever it was they were doing.
“Then dismiss Saeun. By the time you do, we’ll have her out of Quartzholm.” We’d better. Or Wirmund will have Dahleven Outcast and Exiled right beside her.
Kaidlin smiled and radiated her approval. Ragni released his tight control, responding with a lopsided curl of his lip. So I’m not a monster after all.
Kaidlin’s smile disappeared abruptly, usurped by another upsurge of concern. “But if you can’t see her, you won’t be able to say goodbye.”
Ragni forced a smile and tweaked her nose. “Don’t worry, little sister. I’ll get her a message somehow.” Then he bid her goodnight and slipped out the door.
I’ll get a message to her somehow. He’d get more than a message to her—if he could. He clenched his fists and headed for his workroom. It would be deserted now of acolytes, in these cold hours before dawn. Wirmund was asleep and would never know what he’d done. I must be crazy. What he was planning to do was little different from using unsanctioned magic. Except that I’m a priest. I sanction it. That wouldn’t hold much water with Wirmund though, if he knew. Ragni clenched his jaw and hurried on.
*
Celia awakened abruptly from a light doze as her door opened softly. She slid her hand under her pillow to grasp the knife she’d hidden there. Her nerves were on edge knowing that some minion of the Elves, some creature, was watching her. She’d tried to convince herself nothing had changed, that whatever might be there now had been there for some time and nothing had harmed her so far. But now she knew. And she didn’t like it.
She’d looked under the bed twice and in all the dimly lit corners before undressing hurriedly and slipping between the covers. She was glad she’d sent Halla away, or the maid would surely have noticed her nerves and commented on it, requiring Celia to come up with a hasty and most likely improbable sounding excuse. It seemed like she’d lain awake for hours, tensing at every pop and crackle of the fire, but she must have slept at some point for her to awaken now as her door opened.
Light from the hall silhouetted a man’s form for a moment before he shut the door. Dahleven. Celia relaxed and released her grip on the knife. It wasn’t logical; he couldn’t keep them from being spied on, but she felt safer now that he was here. In the light of the low fire, she watched him move with the exaggerated care of someone trying to be considerate and quiet. A wooden chest creaked sharply as he sat on it to remove his boots. His wince was obvious, even in the low firelight.
She took pity on him. “I’m awake.”
“Sorry.” His deep voice rumbled softly. “Did I disturb you?”
“Not really. Did you ever get to talk to your father?”
Dahleven shrugged out of his vest. “No. He and Magnus disappeared after the Tewakwe bid us a weary goodnight. Did you warn Saeun?”
“I sent Halla with a sealed message to Thora, with another sealed note inside to Gert.”
“That was well done.” Dahleven’s voice was muffled as he pulled his voluminous shirt over his head. “Thora can be trusted, and when Wirmund makes known Saeun’s offenses, Halla will have no suspicion of you warning her.”
“That’s what I thought.” She watched the firelight gleam on his bare chest and shoulders as he unlaced his trousers. He really is a beautiful man. “Hurry up and get in bed.”
Dahleven grinned. “I hear and obey, my lady.” Suiting actions to words he slid in behind her, curling his taller frame around hers and cupping one breast as he pulled her close.
Her nipple hardened against his palm and a rill of pleasure coursed through her as he gently squeezed. He shifted his hand to tease her alert flesh with his thumb. The rill became sharper, cascading lower in her body.
It had been so long since they’d been together. Too long. Next summer she’d find a way to keep Dahleven in Quartzholm, or she’d go with him to visit his vassals.
She rolled to face him so she could return his caresses. His muscles rippled under her hand as she enjoyed the feel of his skin and the springy hair of his butt and thigh. He levered himself half over her, kissing first her lips and then trailing fire down her neck and shoulder until he reached her breast. The flames he’d been kindling caught in earnest then.
Thought ceased. She wanted the feel of him on her skin, in her mouth, everywhere. She pulled him closer, over her, wrapping her arms under his shoulders, running her hands down the strong muscles along his spine, arching up to meet him. He shifted to position himself between her legs, but she pushed him onto his back to straddle his hips. She licked his lips, his earlobes, his shoulders, savoring the taste of him. He’d been drinking, of course, though he wasn’t drunk, and the combined aroma of wine and smoke and man-smell went to her head. She rubbed against him, teasing. He tried to pull her down, but she resisted and retreated, trailing moist kisses down his torso.
A sudden loud crack jerked Celia abruptly from her haze of pleasure. Her heart slammed into her chest and she jumped, sitting up.
Dahleven squeezed her thighs. “It’s just the fire, love.”
Celia pressed a hand against her chest, as if that could slow her charging pulse. “Good grief.” She laughed, but it sounded half-hearted and feeble. She let Dahleven pull her down against his chest.
“You’re trembling. What troubles you?” he asked, stroking her back.
“It’s that minion thing. I wish I still thought it was a cat.”
“Did you see it again?”
“No. I looked all over for it, too. But who knows how it gets around? Maybe it came down the chimney after I put out the lamp.”
“Then it probably singed its tail feathers,” Dahleven said.
Celia smiled but didn’t laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m spoiling everything.”
“Nothing is spoiled that can’t be mended,” he said, kissing her nose. Then he rolled them so he was half over her again.
Before he could do more, she shook her head. “I don’t think I can now. The idea of making love with that thing watching gives me the creeps.”
Dahleven stilled. Celia searched his face to gauge his anger. Jeff, her one-time fiancé, would have belittled her, laughing at what he would have called “foolishness.” Dahleven’s face showed nothing. What’s he thinking?
Suddenly he jumped out of bed and strode to the door. For a moment she thought he was so mad he was leaving without a word. Then sense returned. Not without his clothes. He cracked the door and spoke softly to someone. Then he went to the fire, lit a taper, and began to light every lamp and candle in the room. Celia sat up to watch mutely. He’d just finished when a soft tap sounded at the door.
“Cover yourself,” he said, and waited. When she’d pulled the covers up to her chin he opened the door, accepting a bulging sack from someone he didn’t open the door wide enough for her to see.
“Who was that?”
“Our guard.”
There was normally an armsman on every landing, two now that the Tewakwe were guests, but she hadn’t had a sentry assigned to her room since she’d first arrived in Quartzholm. “Our guard?”
Dahleven gave her a sheepish grin. “We’ve been interrupted so often in the past …I gave him orders to not let us be disturbed except in case of war.” Then he began unpacking candle after candle, placing them around the room. At the bottom of the bag were four more oil lamps and a crock of oil. When he finished lighting them, all the room blazed with light. Not a corner remained in shadow. There was no place for anything to hide. “Better?”
Celia’s eyes filled with tears. He’d respected her fear, uttering not one word of criticism.
Dismay covered Dahleven’s face. “What is it?”
“Nothing!” She laughed, ignoring the moisture tickling down her cheeks, then hiccupped. “Come here.”
He didn’t wait to be asked a second time.
She hugged him close with her whole body. “I love you,” she murmured. Then she proceeded to show him just how much.
*
Ragni nodded to the guard at the end of the hall, passed into his workroom, and shut the heavy door behind him. The figures carved into the stone walls seemed to move as the flame of his candle flickered. He leaned against the door for a moment. How had he come to this, with his heart rent in two? He’d never before let a woman affect him so. He hadn’t thought it possible.
I’m protecting Dahleven. But while part of him wanted to lay his motivation at Dahl’s door, he knew this had little to do with his brother. He’d be here even if only Saeun were at risk.
She would die if she were caught and Outcast. The thought of her cold and starving, struggling to survive on her own in the winter wilderness, rose in his mind. Despite his duty to the Law, he couldn’t let that happen. Somehow he’d get her out of Quartzholm by morning. They would never be together now, but at least if they each had a Dream-door, they could maintain some tenuous connection.
By morning he would be foresworn.
He prepared a makeshift altar on his work table, blessing it in Baldur’s name, and beseeching Freyr and Freya’s protection before laying out the runesticks and bowls of sand on the marble surface. I’ll need all the help I can get.
He removed his over-tunic then began to chant. The words were still fresh in his mind. He’d performed this ritual for the first time only the day before, under Wirmund’s eager gaze. The Overprest had found an old Dream-door in the vaults, and had asked Ragni to copy it. That working had created only a single Dream-door, and the process had drained him. Now he was going to make two, keyed to one another.
The awkward rhythms of ritual magic rolled off his tongue with the ease of much practice. Before him, the sand in each of two rune-carved stone bowls began to melt. A foul smell arose, but Ragni took no notice. A thousand buzzing bees crawled beneath his skin and the feeling grew stronger with each word he spoke.
The bees began to sting as he continued to recite the words of ritual. Before him on the altar, the melting sand reshaped itself into two pink stars with dark red hearts. Trapped within, the tiny Dream-doors would allow the wearers to speak into the dreams of the other. With the amulets, he and Saeun could remain connected. If all went well.
Ragni’s breath came in gasps and sweat soaked his shirt. This was harder than before, a greater Working, and he’d already been tired and heart-sore when he’d started. Someone had given their life to make permanent the Dream-door Wirmund had found. Had it been the maker’s intention? Or had its creator attempted too much and killed himself with the ritual? Ragni pushed the thought away. Fear had no place in this.
He tightened his focus, concentrating on the ritual’s words as the air vibrated around him, drawing his fading strength into the Working. With the last word, his hands spasmed on the rune-sticks and he clutched them to his chest. Then his knees buckled and the world went black.
*
Saeun surfaced from an uneasy drowse and huddled deeper into her cloak. The wind blew like
Angrboda’s icy breath. Thank the gods Gert had found them a place to rest out of the worst of it. The overhang sheltered them from the frozen blades, but the rocks carved the wind into moaning voices.
Gert snored softly beside her. The memory of snuggling close to Ragni under down coverlets and the feel of his quiet sleeping breath warming her cheek rose unbidden. Grief threatened to choke her. All the dreams she had barely dared hope were dead like stillborn children.
Why hadn’t she rid herself of the quicksilver and scrying bowl? Her possession of them had endangered her as surely as a sword in an untrained hand. Now she was cut and bleeding. Her use of them had helped Lord Dahleven save Lady Celia and Quartzholm, but she’d put them away afterward. She’d thought of burying her tools in the forest when Ragni had shown interest in her, but his reputation had assured Saeun that his attentions would soon wane. When she’d known herself in love with him, she’d thought of it again. Why hadn’t she? If only she’d acted then. If she had, she’d be sleeping in Ragni’s arms tonight instead of shivering under a rock. Why hadn’t she rid herself of her tools when she had the chance? She could have wailed her grief, adding her voice to the moaning wind.
But she knew why, and she knew there had never really been any chance she would let go her tools of divination. They were all she had left of her mother, and her mother’s blood ran strong in her. She might put away the quicksilver and scrying bowl for a time, but they whispered to her and called her name. She could never leave them unused for long.
Saeun looked up at the stars and the weak moonlight angling through the trees. Did Ragni know about her yet? Did he know she had fled?
Something snatched her attention. A change in the air? The wind still howled. The hairs on Saeun’s neck rose. She lay as still as death and listened. She heard no footfall, no snuffling of bear or growl of mountain cat.
Gert’s snoring abruptly stopped. “What—?” she whispered.
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